


Blood & Water

by Esplodeyoface



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Zagreus was raised by Demeter AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esplodeyoface/pseuds/Esplodeyoface
Summary: “Zagreus,” Mother said again after a while. He looked up at her. Her expression was cold, stony. “Never again, do you hear me? You are never to leave Olympus.”“Mother, I-”“Never, Zagreus. You were lucky this time, but I will not allow this again. I will not lose you.”He swallowed, fingers flexing against the mattress, Mother’s green eyes boring into him.“Yes, Mother. I understand.”
Relationships: Demeter & Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 572





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Mythology is a lifelong special interest of mine and Hades has brought that right back up into hyperfixation so enjoy.

His earliest memories were of the  _ hydria. _

It sat at the back wall of the courtyard, on a high pedestal that not even Mother could reach easily. It was surrounded by other things; a set of gauntlets, a cornucopia overflowing with foodstuffs that shifted with the seasons, some decorative golden things and various other jars and serving dishes that were only brought down when Uncle Zeus visited. But the  _ hydria _ .

It stood out, not only in its place, sitting high above all the other finery, but in its simplicity. It was plainly shaped, none of the flourishes and decorative sculpting featured in any of the other pottery in the house. In all of Olympus, really. The scene painted upon it, too, was simple, stark black against the red of the clay. Two women by a river, exchanging a bundle of something. Zagreus had asked what it meant before, asked after the story he saw painted on every other jar and cup and plate, but Mother had waved it off.

"It is simply a depiction of how I gained the jar, Little Sprout. Worry not of it."

He remembered those words so clearly, heard them in his head every time he laid eyes on the  _ hydria _ . He also remembered the vicious scolding he'd received when he'd indulged in his curiosity and tried to climb up to the pedestal and peer inside. Mother had not been happy. He'd been switched something fierce for that, and banned from playing with his friends for a time.

That didn't mean he wasn't still curious. It ate at him mercilessly. He had dozens of theories on what sat within that tantalizing jar, from evils Pandora had not unleashed, to the ashes of Mother's rumored first daughter. None seemed right, though. None explained why that jar called to him so, or why in the quiet of the night, when nothing but the breeze stirred the air of Olympus, he could hear the faintest  _ thump-thump-thump  _ of something within.

-

"Mama?"

He sat on Mother's lap, watching intently as she passed the shuttle back and forth, golden threads shimmering in the sunlight as she wove her tapestry. In his hands was a matted ball of fluff, that he tore and smushed back together. Mother had only given it to him to keep his hands busy, of course, but being given a task made him feel important.

"Yes, my Little Sprout?" Mother had answered, not taking her eyes from her work.

"What am I a god of?"

Her hands stilled, shuttle pulled halfway through the weft, fibers shivering. Then her work continued, just as steady as before. "Why do you ask that, Sapling?"

"'Pollo said that gods gotta have  _ something, _ " he pulled the lump of wool apart once again in his little hands before squishing the wads back together. "And 'Pollo's never wrong."

Mother made a noise at that, setting the shuttle aside and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me, what would you  _ like _ to be god of?"

He blinked, looking up at her with wide eyes. It had never occurred to him that he could  _ choose _ a domain. The others, Apollo and Artemis, Hebe, Dionysus, Hedone, Hernes, they all seemed to know what their paths would be, for as long as he could remember. "I… I wanna be…" He frowned, thinking hard. So many options available to him, so many things he liked! Dogs, pomegranate juice, dinners with Mother, visits from Uncle Poseidon, when Athena read to him, when Mother let him— "Help!"

"Help?" Mother asked, bemused.

"Help! God of help! Helping people!" He triumphantly held up his fistfuls of wool. "Like Mama!"

She laughed, wrapped her arms around him and pressed kisses over his face, his cheeks, making him giggle and kick in her grasp. "Then, my Little Sprout, you shall grow up to be the most helpful god upon Olympus."

He squealed with delight, wriggling around in her arms until he could fling his own about his mother's neck. "Helpful!" He repeated, overwhelmed with excitement.

He hadn't recognized the deflection for what it was, at the time. Wouldn't for many years still.

-

Mother did not like Ares, it seemed. His eldest cousin was not allowed in the house, and for as long as he could remember, Mother had always stepped between them whenever Ares attempted to speak with him at family functions.

He understood it, or at least he thought he did. Ares radiated danger, carried the smell of iron and battle with him wherever he went, his sword perpetually bloody at his hip. He never  _ acted _ dangerous, though. He held himself with a calm poise Zagreus often saw in his own mother, and always spoke politely to those around him. He'd even gifted Zagreus his first training sword, a little wooden  _ xiphos _ , sanded to a polish and free of any splinters.

He thought it unfair, really. Uncle Zeus and Uncle Poseidon treated Zagreus so kindly, and Ares was Mother's nephew just the same. Besides, Athena held domain over war, too, and she was welcomed over often to aid in his training.

It was late at night, and Zagreus tossed and turned in his bed. The mattress was perfectly soft, the silk sheets cool, the night air gentle and balmy, and yet he couldn’t get comfortable. He couldn’t close his eyes and let sleep take him. Sleeping was already distasteful, no matter how much Mother insisted he needed it for his growth, but even more distasteful than sleep was  _ insomnia _ . His mind ran a thousand miles a minute, thrumming with the need to get up and move, do something,  _ anything _ .

The  _ hydria _ was calling to him. He imagined he could hear the steady rhythm that beat out within it through the walls, through the floor, into his bed and body, feeding his impatience.

With a frustrated noise, he threw the sheets off himself and hopped up. He’d go out into the garden, maybe. Run along the fence a few times. Mother didn’t like him up past curfew, but surely she wouldn’t be angry if he stayed inside the fence.

The light spilling out into the courtyard from the lounge surprised him. Mother wasn’t usually awake so late at night. Perhaps she couldn’t sleep either, perhaps she would wrap him in a blanket and sit with him, tell him the stories Dionysus so often teased him for still liking. He padded across the courtyard, taking hold of the doorknob, mouth open to call out.

“You coddle him,” he heard, the voice low and politely crisp, sharp as a kitchen knife. Zagreus shrunk back from the door, pressing himself to the wall and peering inside through the gap.

Ares stood inside, just barely visible, back facing the door. He saw Mother inside as well, pacing back and forth across the slit of his vision.

“You criticise how I raise my child? You, who knows nothing of life save its brutal end?” Mother’s voice was stern in a way he’d never heard before, colder than winter and harder than granite.

“Would you have him as a man, still clinging to your hem?” Zagreus heard the clank of armor as Ares moved from his sight. “Would you have him naive and dependent upon the  _ kindness _ of this family?” The way he said kindness sounded poisonous upon his tongue.

“He is but a boy still,  _ Nephew _ ,” Mother’s tone was deadly, the sharp crack of ice before falling into the water below. “A boy who has gained even Hera’s favor.”

“Mother’s favor is thin as paper, just as the rest of our family.”

“And my own is growing very thin indeed with you,  _ Boy. _ ”

“I speak in Zagreus’ best interest. A day shall come when Olympus is once again torn asunder, as in Ilium, and we shall again take arms against each other. He shall have to pick a side, then, and shall have to fight for it.”

“Your best interest lies in bloodshed, and that alone. You crave war at every turn, salivate for it like a starving mongrel. I shall not have you tarnish my son’s youth with your gorey fascinations. Athena will remain his tutor.”

“Athena teaches him nothing of use. Technique and strategy against a wooden target. How do you expect the boy to survive?”

“By keeping him away from  _ you! _ ” The light in the room flared from somewhere Zagreus could not see from his position, but he averted his eyes anyway. His hands shook. Mother never got this angry, never lost the composure he knew her so well to have.

It was frightening.

Mother kept speaking after a moment, calm forcibly smoothing out her rage. “I shall not let him become entangled in the affairs of my brothers and sisters. Now leave my home, I shall not indulge your vile presence any longer.”

Zagreus started from his place against the wall, glancing around frantically for a spot to hide. He scurried away, as quietly as he could, pressing himself behind a pillar just as the metallic clank of Ares armor drew close, and light spilled into the courtyard as the door was pushed open.

“His existence begets violence, Lady Aunt Demeter.” Ares said, voice calm and quiet and ringing in Zagreus’ ears like warfare. “And we are all slaves to the Fates’ design.” The words carried with them an overwhelming pressure, a crawling sense of doom that stuck in Zagreus’ throat like lead. They were directed at him, he knew it. Lord Ares knew he stood behind the pillar, hands pressed tight to his face to prevent himself from breathing, legs shaking beneath the fear.

Then the pressure faded, and he heard the God of War exit the courtyard. He did not move when he heard Mother begin to cry, did not move until he could no longer hear the heavy sound of a marching army.

He ran back to his room and hid under the blankets until the sun rose. He did not sleep.

-

The sun shone brightly upon the field, soft grass clipped short for ease of play. Hermes bounced a ball, a woven wicker thing he’d made himself, off his heel, his head, his knee, twice off his foot, his elbow, back to his knee, and so on. His wings fluttered behind his head with every successful bounce.

“Hundred thirty-seven, hundred thirty eight, hundred thirty nine, hundred fourty! Hundred forty one-”

Zagreus watched idly, chin in his hands and elbows on his knees. He always lost this game, but that was never really the point of it, winning and losing. Hermes enjoyed it, and so Zagreus played along. His personal best score was twenty seven.

“Okay, Coz, that tears it.” Hermes bounced the ball one last time off the side of his foot, catching it deftly in his hands and zipping forward. “What’s wrong?”

Zagreus blinked, looking up at Hermes. He wasn’t touching the ground, rarely did so anymore, ever since his flight feathers had grown in, replacing the downy fluff of childhood. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been sitting still for, hm,” Hermes rapidly counted on his fingers. “More minutes than I’ve ever seen. What’s wrong?”

Zagreus groaned, letting himself fall onto his back on the soft grass. “Mother still won’t let me go hunting with Artemis.”

Hermes crossed his legs, sitting a few inches in the air by his head. “Really? Still?”

“She says I’m not ready!” Zagreus complained, throwing his arms up in the air before letting them drop limp to the ground. “Even though Artemis told me herself that I’m good enough with a bow. She even said she’d take me quail hunting! The dogs do more work in quail hunting than the hunters!” He rolled onto his stomach, crossing his arms beneath his cheek and glaring out petulantly at the space between Hermes and the ground. “I don’t get it at all.”

Hermes hummed, ripping up grass to scatter over Zagreus' back. It grew back in an instant, just as lush and green as before. “Why not just go anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Next time Artie wants to take you hunting, don’t ask, just go. I never asked my mother much permission to do anything, and got a great start in life!”

“You started causing trouble the day you were born, Herm.”

“I did indeed! And look at me now!”

Zagreus couldn’t help but laugh at that, huffing and propping himself up on his elbows. “Nobody can catch up to you, though. You cause trouble and by the time anyone’s found out, your five pranks away and still moving.”

“It  _ is _ easy to get away with things when no one can catch you, you’re right.” He conceded, wings fluttering as he laid back in the air. “But! Doesn’t mean you can’t figure out your own way.”

“Well, I can’t fly, I can only shift a few feet at most, I’m barely faster than a mortal and smaller to boot.”

“That’s a lot of can’ts for my can-do Coz.”

“You’re really suggesting I just… go? Next time Artemis invites me, I just go?”

“Just go!” Hermes agreed with a flick of his wrist.

‘I... don’t want to make Mother angry.” Zagreus admitted, lying back on the grown and poking at the blades of grass. “And that’d definitely make her angry. She doesn’t like it when I go off by myself.”

“Wouldn’t be by yourself!” Hermes corrected.

“Well, yeah, but you know her. She doesn’t go back on her rules, and she’s told me no.”

“So you’ll complain, but you won’t do anything about it. I see!”

Zagreus threw a handful of grass at him, frowning. “You don’t get it! Nobody’s ever been strict with you!”

Hermes laughed, throwing a handful back and hopping upright. “Just giving my advice, Coz! Here’s something mortals say: strict parents raise good liars.”

He’d had enough sitting still, apparently, as he scooped up the ball and tossed it in the air with an entirely unnecessary spin. “So, are you going to come have fun with me, or are you going to keep being a wet blanket?”

“I’m not a wet blanket!” Zagreus protested, getting up to his feet.

“Wet and soggy!” Hermes taunted, bouncing the ball off his knee. “You’ll make the field too muddy to play!”

“I’ll show you-!” Zagreus rushed for him, predictably missing and having to skid and reel on his heels in order to turn and keep going after his cousin. But it wasn’t really about winning or losing, so he kept giving chase.

-

Zagreus took Hermes’ advice. The next time Artemis was packing up to go on a hunt, he rushed over, his own bow and quiver clutched in his arms, shaking with excitement and nerves alike.

Artemis looked up from her own preparations when one of her hunting dogs barked. “Oh, uh, Zagreus! Hello. Have you come to see me off, then?” She smiled at him, a little lopsided and awkward.

Zagreus shook his head. “I’d like to come with you!” He rocked back onto his heels, thrusting his quiver and hunting pack forward to show he had prepared. “If that’s alright, of course."

Artemis looked confused. Callisto and Iphiginia giggled. “Aunt Demeter- She’s letting you come this time?”

Zagreus nodded emphatically, maybe overdoing it in his attempt to cover his lie. “Um, as long as I’m back for dinner.”

She snorted, standing and slinging her quiver over her back. “Of course, before dinner. Callisto, would you mind being the one to bring him back, then? I’d like to be around to set up camp.”

“Of course, Lady Artemis,” Callisto said with a smile.

“Alright, then, let’s not lose any more time. We must ensure Zagreus’ first hunt is a good one.” She ruffled his hair, a little rough, but that’s one of the things he liked about his older cousin. She was always so authentically herself, and never spoke to him like a child. He  _ was _ a child, still, but that hardly mattered. He was as old as he’d ever been, and Artemis had always treated him more like an equal than anyone else. Maybe it was because so many of her own hunters were eternally youths.

There wasn’t really a delineation between Olympus and the mortal world, that he could tell. The hunting party simply began its walk down the mountain, into the trees, the path beneath their feet going from stone to well trodden earth to a deer run, barely visible in the underbrush, and Zagreus was suddenly aware that they were very,  _ very _ far away from the mountain.

The realization hit him with a wave of nausea, a sharp stabbing pain through his chest, the world spinning sickeningly. He dropped his pack and fell to his knees, trying to suck breath into seizing lungs.

“Zagreus? Zagreus!” A voice called, too distant to be Artemis, but there she was right in front of him, her mouth moving as she grabbed for him.

He tried to say something, ask what was happening to him, tried to breathe, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate, his body spasming painfully. Artemis swore, turning to shout something to her hunting party before sweeping Zagreus up in her arms and setting off at a sprint.

The speed at which the world rushed past made him feel sicker, but closing his eyes induced such vertigo it was unbearable, so he focused on the crescent moon adorning Artemis’ sternum, black spots dancing across his vision the longer he struggled to wheeze in air.

“Don’t worry, Zag, it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” Artemis assured, voice underwater and a million miles away. His vision was tunneling, black closing in as the pain in his chest tightened-

And then suddenly, he could breathe again, air raking into his lungs, burning him from the inside. Artemis dropped to her knees, setting him down just in time for him to wretch onto the grass outside the Olympian Agora, She hit his back as he coughed and gagged, helping him clear his chest of whatever malady had taken hold of it.

“ _ Zagreus! _ ” Mother’s cry came accompanied by a whirlwind of fabric as she pulled him against her chest. She was shaking, holding him too tight for comfort. “Stupid girl!” she snapped, and Zagreus took a moment to process that her anger was directed at his cousin. “I told you never to take him from the mountain! Look what you’ve done!”

“He told me you’d allowed it!” Artemis shouted back, affronted.

“This has nothing to do with  _ permission _ ! Do you know what could have happened to him?”

“No! Clearly I don’t!”

Mother stood, lifting Zagreus with her. He could feel the temperature drop, the crack of frost, the scent of rotting grass. “Don’t you dare speak to me in such a tone-”

“Mother,” Zagreus coughed, balling his fist into the front of her chiton. “It- i-it’s not her fault.” The next breeze against his cheek was temperate, and he let out a breath that turned into another rough cough. “I- I wanted to go. I lied to her, I said you gave me permission. I’m sorry Mother, I’m so sorry.” he let out a hacking sob, turning his face against Mother’s chest and holding on tightly.

“Oh, you foolish, foolish boy!” Mother scolded, but her voice was more distraught than angry. “Go fetch your brother and bring him to my estate,” she directed toward Artemis, “we’ll discuss this later.”

  
  
  


Apollo checked him over more thoroughly than he’d ever been checked over before, a litany of tests and questions that left his head spinning almost as much as the sudden sickness had. Frankly, he thought it a bit excessive. Once back in the house, the nausea had all but vanished, and he’d even gotten into his bed, despite the sun still being up. After a bowl of porridge and a glass of nectar, even the lingering pain in his chest eased.

“Alright, Sunshine,” Apollo said, ruffling his hair. “Looks like you’re already on your way to a strong recovery. You’ll hate me for it, but I’m ordering you to stay in bed for the rest of the day.” Zagreus slouched back against the pillows, crossing his arms and frowning what he thought to be his best angry frown. Apollo laughed. “I know, I know, you’re feeling better already. If not for yourself, do it for Aunt Demeter, okay? She’ll feel better knowing you have at least a day's recovery under your belt.”

Slowly, Zagreus uncrossed his arms, mind drifting back to his Mother. “Um, Apollo…?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Is… can you please make sure Artemis doesn't get into trouble? Because of me? This wasn’t her fault, I’m the one who lied and disobeyed Mother.”

Apollo gave him a smile, small and reassuring. “I’ll make sure. Artie got you back in time, and that’s what matters.” With one last ruffle of his hair, Apollo stood and made his way from Zagreus’ room.

“How is he?” Mother demanded as soon as the door opened. Zagreus had to imagine she had been pacing back and forth throughout the duration of his checkup.

“Well, it’s about what I expected-” Apollo closed the door, their voices muffling.

Zagreus waited, one second, two, three, and then slipped from his bed, tiptoeing across the floor and pressing his ear to the seam between the door and the wall.

“I-I must be more careful, then.” Mother’s voice sounded thick.

“It could very well be that he went too far too fast, of course.” That was Apollo, and then he said something he couldn’t quite make out. Zagreus strained to listen.

“And if that isn’t the case?”

“If that isn’t the case, then it was crossing the threshold that caused it.”

Their voices drifted further away, and Zagreus could no longer pick out the words they spoke.

Leaving Olympus made him sick? He’d never heard of that before. Mother left all the time, as did his aunts, uncles, and cousins. Really, everyone who lived on Olympus could come and go, it seemed. Access was restricted, of course, if stories like that of Bellerophon were to be believed, but…

He climbed back into bed, and was still mulling the conundrum over when the door again opened.

“How do you feel, Little Sprout?” Mother asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

“I feel a lot better, Mother, really,” he assured. “Don’t be mad at Artemis, okay? Please?”

“She’s been scolded, my dear, but nothing more.” Mother pulled her legs up onto the bed and sat next to Zagreus, pulling him against her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clinging to her, pressing his face into her side. “I’m sorry for lying.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I shall have to think of a punishment for that,” she mused. “Perhaps I shall have you tend to your cousin’s hounds, hm? As she is the one you lied to.”

The prospect of dogs was exciting, but… “What sort of tending?”

“The bathing, the grooming, the trimming, the picking up after. They shall return from the hunt dirty and wild. I shall talk to her about it.”

They fell into silence, And Zagreus watched the shadows cast on his floor by the sun shining through rustling leaves.

“Zagreus,” Mother said again after a while. He looked up at her. Her expression was cold, stony. “Never again, do you hear me? You are never to leave Olympus.”

“Mother, I-”

“ _ Never _ , Zagreus. You were lucky this time, but I will not allow this again. I will not lose you.”

He swallowed, fingers flexing against the mattress, Mother’s green eyes boring into him.

“Yes, Mother. I understand.”

She pulled him close again, folded her arms around him and pressed him to her chest. “Very good, my Little Sprout, my Zagreus. No harm shall befall you, I swear to it.”

“I know, Mother. I know.”

When night fell, and Mother was asleep, Zagreus slipped from his room, bundled in a blanket, and sat in the courtyard. The air was balmy, the breeze gentle. And the  _ hydria _ sat atop its pedestal, shadowed away from the bright light of the moon, and yet calling to him still. He tapped his feet in time to it.

_ Thump-thump-thump. _


	2. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mother, I’m sorry.” He said, not certain what he was really apologizing for, but knowing he must. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off i want to thank Flurrin so much for all the help they gabe me on the fight scene, and second I want to thank everyone who commented for their interest and encouraging words!! It's wonderful to see how many people are intrigued by this wild idea I had lmao. A big ole thanks to all of you!

“ _ She is a spider- _ ” He made a frustrated noise, pressing his hand to the strings of the lyre to stop the sour note. “C’mon, how did it go…  _ she is a _ \- no,  _ she is a spider, a cord around your neck, you are salt wat _ \- dammit!”

“Almost there, man, sounds like you got half the notes right this time.” Dionysus piped up from the mound of pillows he lounged upon.

Zagreus shot him a frustrated look. “You really aren’t helping, you know that, right?”

“My specialty,” He grinned lazily over at him. Zagreus didn’t think he’d ever get used to him without his horns, but after the affair in Thebes, he’d been trying to tone down the madness and dismemberment a bit. “I gotta say though, Zag, you hate the thing so much, why keep bothering with it? You got a nice singing voice, just stick with that.”

“Boredom, mostly.” Zagreus huffed, shoving the offending instrument away and flopping back into the pile of cushions. “You just don’t get it, Dion.”

Dionysus clicked his tongue making a contemplative sound. “I suppose not. I really can't imagine being stuck here, lovely as it is. India is way too nice to stay away from."

Zagreus groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Quit talking about India, it just makes me feel worse!"

Dionysus laughed, propping himself up on an elbow. “Really, though, man, I have  _ got  _ to get you some fun, y’know?”

“Oh, yeah, let’s just go gallivanting around with the Maenads, enjoy a bit of _sparagmos_ while we’re at it. That’ll happen.” He crossed his arms, glaring up at the cloudless sky, stained peachy and gold as the sun started to set.

“There’s always the arena, y’know.” There was a glint in Dionysus’ eye, the one he got whenever he’d had a  _ particularly _ bad idea, and those could range anywhere from “eating random mushrooms” to “inducing citywide plagues of mania”.

Zagreus sat up, turning to face him. “You have my attention.”

“S’posed to be Heracles tonight, man, and I know how to get us backstage.”

“And now you have my full support.” Zagreus couldn't help the grin that split his face. “What time?”

“I’ll come and grab you,” Dionysus said after a moment of thought.

“I’m holding you to that. If you don’t show up, I’ll ruin all your wine.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching a pillow to his chest. “My wine, no!”

“I mean it! I’ll throw hemlock in it! All of it!”

“Think you can  _ find _ all of it, mate?”

“A grudge to settle would be the most interesting thing to happen to me in  _ years. _ ”

“Fair point, fair point,  _ very  _ fair point.”

Mother had retired right after dinner to her weaving room, where he had no doubts she would stay until she deemed it time to sleep, so Zagreus passed the time in the courtyard, pacing back and forth in front of the  _ hydria _ as the moon rose.

Its presence that night felt like an itch, the continuous  _ thump-thump-thump _ faster than usual. He timed his footfalls to it, excitement and anxiety sharp in his chest in equal measure. There was little to do but wait, and the longer he waited, the faster the drumming became, until he swore he could feel it vibrating in his very bones.

He needed to know. He had to know. He stopped his pacing, staring up at the stark black and red jar. The tempo within had reached a fever-pitch, his hands shaking. He was still so much shorter than Mother, the smallest of all his family save Hermes, but surely there was some way to get the  _ hydria _ down, to peek inside and return it before Mother noticed anything amiss. It would just take a little creativity-

Something bounced off his head. Zagreus was startled from the hypnotism of the jar, looking around for what it was that touched him when another bounced off, and then three more things, and something small and round and cool burst beneath his heel when he took a step back. A sharp, sweet smell filled his senses, and he couldn’t help but grin. Grapes, of course.

Several more grapes pattered to the ground as he couched, and then all began rolling away from him, skittering and bouncing across the courtyard and out the front gate. He followed eagerly, biting back a laugh as he did so. His little guides bounced and skipped over the paving stones, trailing little bursts of sweetness after them.

His little guides rounded a corner, and led him smack dab into Dionysus. Zagreus grunted, reeling back from the sudden collision, but Dionysus just laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders to steady him. “Alright there, Zag, man? Let me tell you, you’re gonna love this, you are gonna  _ love _ this!”

“Every time you start talking like that, I know you’re going to get me into trouble.” The words held no bite, though, just excitement as Dionysus began steering him down the empty streets.

“You’re already in trouble for sneaking out, man, you can only get so wet!”

  
  
  


The roar of the crowd was  _ intoxicating _ . In the arena, the once mortal hero Heracles stood, adorned in shining bronze armor and the golden fur of the Nemean Lion, multiple rounds of combat not mussing him in the slightest. His deep, boisterous laugh could be heard clear through the screaming in the stands. Zagreus watched from his seat, separate from the masses in the little alcove reserved for attendees of the highest honor. He leaned out over the banister, holding onto it tightly in his excitement.

“If any should wish to challenge me, speak now!” Heracles called, arms raised as he circled the arena. A dramatic pause. “No one?” He spread his arms wide, perfectly at home in the spotlight. “No one upon Olympus wishes to meet me in combat?”

Perhaps it was the cups of wine Zagreus had drunk, perhaps the din of the crowd, perhaps the thrill of breaking the rules, perhaps the prospect of  _ Heracles himself _ speaking to him. Perhaps all of it at once fed the impulse, perhaps none at all. But Zagreus stood, raised a hand.

“Um, I would, Sir.”

The crowd fell deathly silent in an instant. Lights that had been following the hero in his circuit about the arena swiftly turned and landed on Zagreus. He flinched, squinting against the sudden brightness.

A booming laugh filled the silence, followed by uproarious applause. “Come then, young man!”

“Zag, man, you sure that’s a good idea?” Dionysus asked, sitting up from his half-conscious lounge.

“I have no delusions about  _ winning _ , don’t worry.” He assured with a grin as he stepped past. “It’s just… when would I ever get this chance again?”

As he stepped into the arena, Zagreus ran through everything Athena had taught him. Heracles was larger, stronger, and most importantly, had been in countless numbers of actual fights. On his side, Zagreus knew he was quick. That was about it.

“And what is your name, challenger?” Heracles’ voice boomed as he came to a stop across from him. A layer of soft sand sat over the hard-packed ground of the arena.

“Zagreus, sir.” He responded. He dug his heel into the sand. Dirty tricks might not hold over well in arena combat, but it would give him an advantage. He weighed the options against each other.

Heracles laughed, turning to the crowd with his arms wide. “For shame, citizens of Olympus! The meek son of Goddess Demeter is the only man brave enough to challenge me!”

Zagreus felt his jaw tighten.  _ Meek _ ? Since when had  _ that _ become his reputation?

Dirty tricks it was, then.

The spotlights expanded to encompass him and Heracles. The hero’s posture was of easy confidence. In his own head, Heracles had already won. As little as Zagreus expected his own victory, he decided right then he would not go down easy.

A bell sounded somewhere, the crowd dimming to a whispered hush of anticipation. For a tense moment, neither moved. 

Zagreus broke the standoff first, darting to the right to swing into his opponent. Heracles feinted away from the attempt without breaking his composure or eye contact. His sandals shifted across the sand and Zagreus jumped back just in time to avoid getting tripped.

Heracles made the next move, a swing that was broad and obvious, and frustration bit in his chest. Zagreus ducked, moving back from the next strike.

He was being pitied, or patronized, or made a fool of. Heracles not only knew he would win, but he knew he would win without even trying. Zagreus set his jaw, sprinting forward, and was near effortlessly redirected, caught by the shoulders and tossed away. He staggered, sand flying up around his legs as he regained his balance. There was laughter from the crowd.

He took a breath and righted himself, digging his heels into the sand. It gave way beneath him, just slightly, slipping beneath his feet. He ran again, was caught again, tossed aside again.

Zagreus saw Dionysus over Heracles’ shoulder, standing at the edge of the box and gripping the bannister tight. He looked anxious, as though mere seconds away from demanding the fight cease.

When had his reputation become  _ meek _ ?

Zagreus ran forward again, watching the rise of Heracles’ arms as he prepared to deflect him once again, and dropped hard to the ground. He took the brunt of the fall on his outer thigh, momentum carrying him forward on the loose sand, beneath Heracles’ grapple. He dug his fingers into the earth, twisting himself around and forcing his movement back towards the hero, lunging low and throwing his shoulder into the back of his leg.

Heracles grunted as he dropped to one knee, and Zagreus scrambled to put some distance between the two of them, righting himself and panting. His leg felt rubbed raw, but the pain was completely drowned out by the crowd. The pitch of the cheers had changed completely, surprise and anticipation and true, genuine excitement. Heracles’ expression had changed too. No longer was he indulging a weak little boy by playacting combat.

Zagreus felt himself grin, a thrill rising in his chest.

Heracles stood, rolling his shoulders. His smile had hardened into something like a challenge. “A commendable first strike, Son of Demeter!” The praise sang through his head.

“Let’s see if I can get a second, then, yeah?”

His laugh boomed. “Let’s see indeed!”

Heracles broke the standstill this time, closing the distance in three loping steps and a swing Zagreus barely dodged, skidding back in the sand. The hero lunged forward, and Zagreus ducked down, thinking to roll, to put some distance between then again-

Only for Heracles’ open palm to connect with his face. He heard something crunch, and next knew he was staggering away, blood pouring from his face, into his hand and splattering onto the sand beneath him. He didn’t quite feel the pain, something like a dull numbness pressing out from beneath his skull. With a noise, he shook the blood from his hand, wheeling around to face Heracles again.

The crowd was silent as the dead. Heracles stood unmoving, eyes focused not on Zagreus, but on the crimson smear across his palm.

“Red blood?” Someone said, and the noise that erupted from the stands was deafening. The world span, and somehow he was pinned, an iron grip on the back on his neck and arm.

“Yield, young man.” Heracles said, quiet, no more showmanship in his voice.

“Stop! Stop the fight!” He heard Dionysus shouting from the box.

Zagreus thrashed, kicking his legs up in a futile attempt to squirm out of the pin. “Leggo! Let me go!”

“ _ Yield. _ ”

He let himself go limp, glaring down at the spreading puddle of red seeping into the ground.

-

Mother paced back and forth, her arms clasped behind her back. He could see crystals of ice forming in the bottles of nectar that lined the shelves.

She had woken him up midmorning, throwing the door to his bedroom open in a gust of sharp, cold wind that carried the scent of dying crops. She took one look at him, at the dark bruising splashed over his face, and said “so it’s true,” betrayal weighing down her words.

Now he sat on the couch, stiff and anxious. She had not begun speaking yet, which made him fear her more in that moment. She was considering her words, which meant that his punishment would be serious indeed..

Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore. “Mother, I-”

“Fool!” She snapped, ice cracking beneath her feet as she whirled around to face him. “You foolish, stupid boy! What were you thinking?”

“I-”

She didn’t let him respond. “You sneak out, against my wishes, alone, against my wishes, to the stadium, against my wishes, get into a  _ fight _ , against my wishes!” She began pacing again, gesticulating in her fury.

“I wasn’t alone-”

“No, you were with that hedonist Dionysus! Irresponsible and mad! It would have been better were you alone!”

“Dionysus didn’t do anything!”

“No! He did nothing! He watched as you flung yourself foolishly into  _ arena combat _ ! I never should have let you near the likes of him-”

“ _ Mother _ !”

Her gaze snapped to him, expression turning hard as stone. “You do  _ not _ raise your voice with me, young man.”

“If you’re going to punish me, then just do it. You don’t have to bring anyone else into it.” Mother stared him down, the temperature falling further in the room. He clenched his jaw and dug his nails into his palm to avoid shivering. “Dion was just trying to- to be kind to me.”

There was a pause, long and tense and Zagreus felt he would snap in half beneath the strain of it. Then Mother’s expression softened, and the chill in the air eased. “My Little Sprout… My Zagreus, you cannot understand a mother’s pain. Attending the assembly this morning and hearing wild rumors, rumors of my own son challenging Heracles himself to a brawl? You cannot imagine how I felt.”

“He went easy on me.”

“And yet he spilled your blood for all Olympus to see!”

“What’s wrong with my blood?”

Mother’s expression was unreadable for a moment, then she swept down upon the couch, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him against her frame. “Oh, my darling Zagreus, nothing is wrong with you, nothing at all.”

He felt a familiar bite of frustration, pulling himself away from her embrace. “The way you say that makes me believe something is.” He couldn’t keep the venom from his voice. “Am I mortal? Is that it?”

Mother grasped onto his arms, pulling him back against her more firmly. “You are not mortal, no. You have lived a hundred years and shall live thousands more.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He tried pulling back again, but Mother pressed a hand to the back of his head, pushing his face into her shoulder. The pressure made the ache of his broken nose flare again.

“It is… true, that mortality runs in your blood, my Sprout. You are immortal, yes, but you are frail, your constitution weak. You must understand how much I worry for you.”

“That doesn't make sense.” Zagreus protested, but Mother had seemed to stop listening, stroking his hair with fingers like ice.

“Combat training, what a fool I was… I thought it would keep your mind and body healthy, but I see now it was a mistake. I shall speak to your Cousin Athena on the matter, next I see her.”

Zagreus tried to move from his hold again, put some distance between them, demand more answers, but Mother’s hold was tight, unmoving, trapping him in place. He could feel frigid droplets soaking into his hair. She was crying.

He felt leaden with guilt, finally letting himself sink into her arms and wrap his own about her waist. “Mother, I’m sorry.” He said, not certain what he was really apologizing for, but knowing he must. “I’m sorry.”

-

His already small world had shrunk. He tended the garden, as Mother wished. Athena stopped teaching him combat, as Mother wished. He tried to focus on philosophies, histories, sciences, as Mother wished, going to the great library as often as he could, though he found academics bored him. His athletic pursuits were whittled down to running in circles in the nearby field, as Mother wished. And after being caught in that field after dark one too many times, his door was kept locked at night.

All as Mother wished.

He felt he was going insane.

He spent much of his time in the courtyard, now, with nothing better to do, gazing up blankly at the  _ hydria _ . The black figures upon it had stopped looking like people some time ago to him, pointless black smears on red clay. The beat from within was slow these days, lethargic and irregular, until he awoke from dreams of red blood and unyielding ice to the fevered buzz of the jar calling him, screaming for him.

He ignored it, those times. He feared he'd shattered the damnable thing.

Dionysus was not permitted in the house anymore, and Hermes' newfound duties as messenger kept him too busy for more than fleeting conversations. Artemis had been upon Olympus less and less these days. Family functions were strained when they did happen. There was conflict in the family, he could tell.

_ “You needn’t worry about it, Cousin.” _

_ “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Little Nephew!” _

_ “We’ve got it handled, Sunshine, don’t fret over it.” _

He was beginning to resent being treated like a child.

Still, every evening, he ate dinner with Mother, though he could barely stomach the food. Still, he would prepare wool for spinning, though he sometimes thought he could no longer feels his hands. Still, he would tend the garden and harvest what was ripe, though the work that had once made him feel important blurred together in monotony. Still, he listened to Athena’s lectures, though he absorbed none of the information.

  
  
  


The basket of pomegranates weighed heavier than Zagreus thought possible as he hauled it into the kitchen. Perhaps it was just exhaustion eating away at him. He hadn’t truly slept in many nights, dreams and the insatiable need to be  _ doing _ keeping him pacing the length of his bedroom all night.

He dropped the basket onto the counter with a grunt of exertion, several of the fruits dislodging and rolling out. He caught one in his hand, the smooth fruit still warm from the sun, and cut it into quarters, exposing the gem like seeds.

(Mother thought he didn’t know where the kitchen knives were. He hadn’t made an effort to correct her)

The fruit burst, sweet and sharp against his tongue, seeds cracking satisfyingly between his teeth. He leaned back against the countertop, plucking the seeds out one by one and savoring the flavor of each one, hands staining red with the juice. Pomegranates had become one of the few pleasures in his life, it seemed. One of the few things that still held taste, still brought him some measure of happiness. He felt some energy seep back into him, some strength and will come back into his tired body and exhausted mind. 

“He’s in the garden, I believe.” He heard Mother say from the courtyard. Starting to attention, Zagreus hid the knife and ducked out of sight. “This sickness, it hasn’t lifted in years. You must know  _ something _ .”

“Aunt Demeter, with respect, I don’t even need to see Zagreus to know what’s wrong with him.” That was Apollo. Mother had been calling him to the house more and more frequently as of late as she fretted over his lethargy. “As I keep telling you, he’s melancholic.”

“I can’t understand how that’s possible! I would give him anything he wishes!”

“You give him what he asks for, Aunt.”

“Yes, I  _ just _ said that-”

“Forgive me, but what he wants and what he asks for are completely different things.”

“Are you telling me I don’t know my own son?”

“I am telling you nothing of the sort. You know him better than anyone.”

A pause. He could picture Mother pacing the length of the courtyard, expression pinched. “Then, tell me, how do I lift this melancholy? He was… he was such a bright young boy. It pains me to see him this way.”

Another pause. Heavier, this time. He could practically feel Apollo weighing his options. “Allowing to continue his combat training would be-”

“Absolutely not.”

Zagreus sighed. Of course not.

“Aunt Demeter… I shall leave you with this advice. Zagreus is a boy no longer. Treating him as such will only stifle him further. Now, please, if you would excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.” A bright flash of light, and Zagreus could feel Apollo’s presence no longer.

Quietly, he slipped from the kitchen and back out into the garden to finish his pomegranate.

-

There was a knock at his door, soft and tentative. Zagreus stopped his pacing, slipping into bed as he heard Mother call for him. “Little Sprout? Are you awake?”

“Yes, Mother. Is something wrong?” He called back, opening a book to a random page to justify the candles still burning.

The door unlocked, a heavy sound that always scraped down his spine, and Mother stepped inside. She wore a nightgown, hair tied back simply. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time, not since he was a child. She sat next to him on the bed. She looked weary, but her eyes were warm. “You shouldn’t be reading so late at night, my dear. You’ll strain yourself.” She scolded gently.

“I’ve been taking breaks.” He assured, closing the book and sitting up straighter. He repeated himself. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, no, I have simply been thinking. Being cooped up so much… I do worry it isn't healthy for a growing young man.”

_ It’s your fault _ , he thought bitterly, but kept his expression neutral.

“And as such, I think it would be good for both of us to have a little fun. Fishing, perhaps?” Her eye twinkled at that, and Zagreus actually perked up.

“Fishing? You mean it?” Mother hadn't allowed him to the river since Uncle Poseidon had tried to teach him to swim. “It’s been forever!”

Her expression warmed further, the room filling with the smell of wheat under the sun. “I was thinking, we could make it a picnic. Pack us some of your favorites and make a day of it.”

Something pricked behind his eyes. “I… I would like that a lot, Mother.”

She pulled him against her side, holding him close. “Wonderful. We’ll go tomorrow. I hope you remember where that rod of fishing your uncle gave you is.”

He hugged her back, smiling into her shoulder. “I do, I do.”

  
  
  


The wind ruffled against him as he and Mother made their way along the path, away from the city of Olympus and into the lush mountainside beyond it. The river was a clear, gorgeous thing that poured down from the peak in a series of waterfalls, and Zagreus could remember exactly where he had caught his first fish. It had been a pathetic thing, but Uncle had hoisted him onto his shoulders and announced him to carry the superb skill of the greatest fishermen. The memory was fond as he looked over the cliffside, down into the glittering waters.

A less fond memory was when Mother had disproved of Uncle’s method of teaching him to swim. Mostly by tossing him bodily. It had been great fun until the yelling started.

“Zagreus, step away from the edge, you’re making me nervous.” Mother called from behind him, a gust of wind causing her chiton to billow.

“I won’t fall,” He assured, though he stepped back anyway. He hadn’t felt so excited in years, his fishing rod in one hand and pack slung over his shoulder. The sun was hot against his shoulders and the wind perfectly cooling. “Do you remember the feast that was held down there once, Mother? With all the spring flowers and the waterfowl?” He turned around to face her, bouncing along the path backward.

“Watch where you’re going, dear.”

“That was the first time Hermes flew, remember? Well, he called it flying. I still think he just managed not to fall on his face.”

“Zagreus, please, walk next to me if you want to talk.” A sharp wind gusted, snatching the crown of wheat from Mother’s head. She made a noise, grabbing for the thing, but it blew out of her reach, toward him.

Zagreus laughed, taking a few steps back as he watched it flip through the wind. “I’ve got it, don’t worry!”

“Be careful!”

He hopped up, fingers successfully curling around the wreath. “Got it!”

He heard something, in that moment. A bell, maybe, distant and mournful.

His ankle turned as he landed, a rock falling loose under his sudden weight. His other foot came into contact with nothing at all. His stomach lurched.

He was falling. Zagreus could see horror overtake Mother’s face, and then there was nothing but the cloudless blue sky filling his vision, and the sound of rushing air that couldn't quite drown out the agonized scream of “ _ No! _ ”

  
Falling was not deadly. What was deadly was the short, sharp shock at the end of the fall. His spine snapped over a boulder protruding from the water, a crack that reverberated throughout his body. He had the ludicrous thought of  _ oh, that can’t be good _ , before plunging into the cold, rushing water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song Zag was singing at the beginning was Spiders by Lung btw. I'm just pretending its some kind of lament of arachne or something 
> 
> Zag: I won't fall!  
> Zag: (falls)


	3. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was in the Underworld. He was dead. He was alive. He had died. He was never alive at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT your comments are all so nice and I'd answer all of them if was capable of saying anything beyond Gay Key Smashing and Complete Total Spoilers so this is my blanket statement to all of you that yall make me cry and i reread comments like every day because they give me so much motivation and joy bless you all

The water was cold, so cold, rushing past him, through him, dragging him, directionless, a piece of debris in the harsh current. His lungs burned, his body numb, cold, so, so cold. Mother’s scream rang in his ears.

The rushing water pushed him into something hard. Zagreus flailed, frantic, unsure of where his frozen limbs even were, desperate for the salvation of something solid in the river. He grasped onto something, he wasn't sure how, instinct perhaps, and his head broke free of the water.

He scrabbled at the surface, something smooth and slick, but the current pushed at his back, blessedly not tearing him away again. He coughed, sharp and wet, chest spasming as it attempted to purge the frigid water from his lungs. In his dim, blurred vision, he watched the water come up red. He was bleeding, then, somewhere deep inside himself. He found himself thanking the water for numbing him to the sensation for now.

He was so, so  _ cold _ .

“You lie!” A voice boomed, deep, sharp, unrecognized yet familiar all the same. It sounded like Lord Uncle Zeus when he got angry. He tried to speak, to call out for help, only to be overcome by coughing yet again. Good gods, there was so much blood.

“If anyone’s lying, it’s the list!” responded another voice, smaller, high pitched, strangely accented. “It says right here-”

Someone grabbed onto Zagreus by the back of the chiton, hauling him from the river and onto the slick steps. Marble, they had to be. He heaved one last time onto the temple floor before he was finally able to breathe unobstructed, gasping in air in great, painful gulps. “Who cares about the list?” came a voice above him, a woman’s this time, quiet and raspy. “Whoever it is, he’s no shade.”

“I care about the list!” Came the high pitched voice again. “Look, right here! Zagreus- that's him- son of Hades- that's you- fell from a cliff to his death!”

“My son never lived!” The first voice boomed.

“Everyone, calm down!” Another woman’s voice, clear and warm but commanding. Silence fell, save for Zagreus’ ragged breathing. Cold, cold. A hand laid on his arm, so warm that he gasped, that it burned. The woman levered him upright, onto his knees, and wrapped a blanket around him. He opened his eyes, blurry, disoriented, so much blood pooling about him on the gray marble. Where on Olympus was the marble gray? A hand on his cheek, so burningly warm, and he lifted his gaze, past the black and red fabric. His vision swam, doubled.

“Mother?” he croaked. The green eyes, so kind, filled with worry. But no, she was smaller, nearer Zagreus’ size than Mother had ever been, the lines on her face less pronounced, wheat-colored hair piled back behind her head and adorned with- he squinted, trying to get his eyes to work again, against the exhaustion, against the biting ice still lingering in his body. “No, who…?”

The woman’s eyes had gone wide, though, taking his face in both hands and turning it to the left. Gently, ever so gently, she traced a shaking finger beneath his right eye. “Hades,” she breathed, eyes welling with tears. “It’s really him. It has to be.”

She sobbed, a smile coming over her face so bright, so warm he almost felt it, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. He was confused, mind reeling and disconnected, but she was warm, so warm, that he clung to her as he shook. Heavy footsteps sounded, echoing in the silence. Zagreus looked up.

A man, a god, standing ten feet tall, broad and imposing, hair long and black, skin corpse gray. He was again reminded of his uncles, in the imposing stature, the overwhelming presence. Lord Hades, God of the Underworld. There was no one else he could be.

His eyes were red, the sclera a deep inky black that he had never seen on Olympus save for his own reflection.

Lord Hades dropped to his knees, pulling both Zagreus and the woman into his massive arms. “My boy,” he whispered, as the woman sobbed. “Our boy.”

  
  
  


Some time later, Zagreus sat in front of a large fireplace, wrapped in such a number of blankets he could lean his weight back and still be fully upright and supported. He held a warm cup of nectar in his hands, his third in short succession. The warm drink had done wonders to ease the chill from deep within. It came as a surprise when the receding numbness only revealed an ache in his back. Deep and painful as it was, he expected much worse. It had snapped at the bottom of his fall, he was sure of it, could remember the sharp jut of the rock and the horrible crunch that had resounded through his body.

The conversation taking part around him made little sense, confusing him deeply. He was in the Underworld. He was dead. He was alive. He had died. He was never alive at all.

“Is it really a security breach if he died to get down here in the first place?” The one with the high pitched voice, swathed in bright red blankets of his own, hair white and curly like the wool of a sheep.

“He’s still  _ alive _ .” Said the raspy-voiced woman. She had a single wing that twitched in annoyance, massive and leathery.

“The list says he died!”

“Shut up about the list and look at the facts!”

“The facts say that he died, too!”

“Silence! Both of you!” Lord Hades ordered, and the bickering stopped immediately. “This argument is pointless!”

The Queen of the Underworld paced back and forth, hands planted on her hips in a way that reminded him so much of Mother. Rumors of her first daughter had always been whispered upon Olympus. No one would ever tell him anything about it, of course, just like anything he asked about, but he thought he remembered a name, something half caught as a child.

“Um, excuse me, miss?” He asked, voice raw and quiet. Every head in the lounge turned to him almost at once, and he shrunk a little further into the blankets that surrounded him. “Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but… are you… are you Kore?”

Lord Hades stood sharply, the seat beneath him tipping back with the force. “Do not speak that name, boy.” He said, but the Queen raised a hand to him, a small smile over her face, though her brows were pinched.

“Peace, dear.” she soothed. Lord Hades grimaced, looking chagrined as he sat back down. “I was, yes, though I go by Persephone now. You… Oh, Zagreus, there are so many questions I have, and nowhere to start.”

“I don’t know if I have any answers,” Zagreus admitted. “I’m just as confused as all of you.”

“I believe I have the answers you seek.”

Another woman drifted into the lounge, dressed in purples and blacks so black it almost hurt to look at. Her hair drifted weightlessly about her head, dark as night and speckled with stars.

Lord Hades hit the table with his hand, his many rings cracking sharply against the surface. “Finally, you arrive! What is the meaning of all this?!”

Queen Persephone’s expression hardened as well, turning to the newcomer. “Yes, Nyx, explain yourself. I thought you’d said you could not bring him back?”

Nyx, the Night herself, looked mournful. “I did. I told you I could not bring your child back to you. I did not say I could not bring him back to life.”

“And you deigned not to tell us?” Lord Hades stood again, towering over them all and seeming bigger still in his fury. “You lied? Let Persephone fall to despair, let us weep for a son taken from us before he could even be born?”

It felt as though the very Underworld shook. “I fulfilled my oath.” Nyx refuted, voice containing such power that Zagreus shuddered, and the others in the room stepped back from the two gods. “Could I have done it any differently, I would, but the Fates weave their strings tight. Your son became a man, safe and cared for, raised by Demeter.”

“You gave him to my  _ mother _ ?” Queen Persephone cut in, aghast. “After everything I’ve told you of her-”

“As I said,” Nyx broke in, then took a breath and folded her hands neatly in front of herself. “It was the only way I could find, among the weaving of the Fates, to fulfil my oath. I took no joy in the deception, nor in your pain. It was a deal I made with my daughters. Silence, in exchange for a fate of his own.”

“Excuse me,” Zagreus broke in, mind reeling. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand  _ any _ of this. Am I dead or not?”

Nyx looked at him, her dark eyes filled with sadness. “Oh, child, there is so much to explain, but I fear there isn’t the time.”

He opened his mouth, to demand answers, beg someone to start at the beginning so he could make sense of it all, when a sharp pain pierced through his chest. He dropped the cup of nectar, clutching at the front of his chiton as his breath froze within his throat. His lungs burned, his chest seized.

“Zagreus!” Queen Persephone called to him, but it was muffled, distant, warm hands grasped his shoulders as he doubled forward, his own fingers digging into his sternum as though he could make himself breathe manually. “Nyx, what’s happening to him?!”

“His heart beats still upon Olympus. I suspect Demeter is returning him to it.”

His vision spotted and tunneled as he spasmed and choked, clawing at something, anything, trying to steady himself as everything went black-

And just as suddenly, he could breathe again.

He heaved in a breath, rolling onto his side as he coughed and retched. It was bright, so very bright, the sun warm against his skin, wind rustling through the trees.

“Easy there, easy,” a voice soothed, easing him into a sitting position. His chest  _ ached _ , weighed a thousand pounds as something beat against his ribs from within. He gasped for more air, feeling as if he couldn’t get enough, couldn't fill his lungs. He kept trying, until he felt dizzy.

Eventually, he forced his eyes open, the light stinging. He was back on Olympus, it seemed, in one of many temples. A woman held him upright. Iaso, he thought, or was it Aceso? She held a cup of water up to his lips, and he drank slowly. Around the table he lay upon, he saw Hermes, actually sitting for once, wings folded close to his head, and Apollo, standing over a bowl of water, washing blood from his hands. They both looked exhausted.

“What-” Zagreus started to ask, before coughing again. The beating in his chest seized and hammered. He clutched at his tunic. “W-what is this?” he gasped out.

“We put your heart back, Sunshine.” Apollo said tiredly, coming over with a damp cloth to wipe down his face. “Or, rather, we put you back around your heart.”

“I-I died,” he swallowed. “I was dead.”

“You did die,” Hermes agreed, picking his head up from where he sat, slumped forward. “Weren’t dead, though.” He nodded his head to the side, and Zagreus followed the gesture.

The  _ hydria _ sat broken, shards of terracotta sitting in a puddle of red. The painting on the front, two women, by a river, exchanging a bundle of something, was split right down that little bundle.

-

Some changes were immediate and obvious. The constant, steady reminder that Zagreus now had a  _ heart _ was chief among them. 

It drummed throughout his body, constant, unignorable, a never-ending pulse he felt in his fingertips, his temples, his chest.

Good gods, his  _ chest _ . Heavy, crowded, the new organ pounding against his ribs and lungs. If he held still, he could see his body shake with the force of the steady  _ thump-thump-thump _ . If he sat in silence, he could hear it, the constant rush of blood through his head. It sped and slowed seemingly at random, serving as a constant distraction. He didn’t know how mortals could stand it.

The second was that his feet were now on fire. Sparks flared out from his every step, like poking a coal. He singed the rugs, the grass, trailing behind him a path of soot and scorch marks wherever he went barefoot. Which was most places, now that his sandals crumbled to ash by the end of the day. He didn't have much feeling in them anymore, at least, so it wasn’t much of an issue.

Other changes took him longer to notice and identify. Everything seemed so much brighter, now, the light of the sun near blinding and a few candles more than enough to illumination at night. Shadows seemed to fall more harshly across him, as well, carving harder angles than before. It was especially noticeable beneath his right eye, the black and red one he saw reflected in the face of Lord Hades (his father, apparently, no mortal as Mother had once said-). He was stronger now, too, though he didn’t have many ways to test by how much, and faster, with more endurance than he’d had even when permitted daily training. He’d not yet found the limit of his endurance, either, but he’d certainly found how much he was willing to tolerate the incessant pounding of his new heart as he ran.

Furthermore, he could leave Olympus.

  
  
  


Mother had not taken his death and subsequent resurrection well. She hovered, and fretted, and in the rare moments of solitude he found when her duties forced her from the house, she became so inconsolably distraught that her cornucopia would begin to rot. She wept often, gathering Zagreus into her arms and crying into his hair, often lamenting her failures as a mother. Zagreus could do nothing in these moments. Any word of assurance only inspired her misery further. The rest of the time, she was prone to fly into a rage at the tiniest provocation. The singes on the floor he left, a knot in her weaving, a few poorly chosen words could all bring about her cold fury. Zagreus felt as though he were constantly walking on shards, picking his way around the sharp edges of Mother’s anger.

The mortals were the ones who suffered the most. Heavy clouds gathered outside Olympus, dark and foreboding, carrying the scent of ice and rot on the wind. The harvest was failing, the ground freezing unseasonably early, and the desperate pleas of the mortals seemed to only further Mother’s ire.

“They are ungrateful, Zagreus. Ungrateful of the only life they have been given, just as you did. They take my gifts for granted. No more.” Mother had told him, when he asked why she did not answer the prayers.

His world had shrunk again. He was not permitted from the house without Mother accompanying him. His bed was moved to her chambers. Not even Athena was allowed to see him anymore.

He lay in his bed, listening to the beat of his heart. It was so loud, louder than the call of the  _ hydria _ had ever been, urging him on from the inside to get up, to move, to run, scream and shout and ease the  _ thumpthumpthumpthumpthump  _ that rattled him to his core. How the whole of the house did not shake with it, he couldn’t understand.

But Mother slept, her bed in the middle of the room, between him and the door. His restless pacing through the night had already drawn her anger once before. So he lay still.

He had to lay still.

He  _ had _ to get out of there.

With as much silence as he could muster, Zagreus eased the blanket off himself and sat up. The glow from his now-burning feet wasn’t particularly bright, the dull glow of coals in a brazier as opposed to an open flame. He tried to breathe more evenly, the beating of his heart rising.

Mother did not move. He stood, and still she slept. She kept the key to the door in a little  _ pyxis _ beside her bed, along with her jewelry. He could see it so clearly, the moonlight filtering in through the window so bright to him now. His hands shook as he crept over, and slowly, oh so slowly lifted the lid and extracted the key.

The ceramic clicked as he returned the lid, the noise deafening. His heart stalled painfully, an uncomfortable spasm before beginning again to thunder. Mother rolled from her back onto her side. He felt petrified. He wished he was. The stare of a gorgon would have been nothing compared to the fury of Mother. But as the minutes crawled on, she did not move again, her breathing slow and steady. He clutched the key in his sweating palm and began the painstakingly slow journey across the room. He avoided the rug, lest the smell of singed wool rouse Mother.

The lock clunked as he undid it, the noise scraping down his spine. He held his breath. His heart was so, so loud in his chest. Mother did not stir. Zagreus opened the door only so much as he needed to let himself out.

Finally, there he stood, in the courtyard of the house. The moon high ahead, the breeze cold against his skin. He slid the key into his chiton. He would give himself an hour. An hour to work this mania from his body, and then sneak back into the house and be in bed before Mother even knew he was gone.

He set off, through the gates and down the mountain. He would stay away from the city, lest he be seen and rumor spread. The field, perhaps, where he and Hermes would often play as children. It was bordered on one side by a thick copse of trees, where he could go and be away from all but the most prying of eyes. He picked his pace up to a jog.

The air was cold but refreshing, rushing through his hair and clothes and soothing the impatience deep in his bones. His heart thudded in his chest with his footfalls, loud and persistent, blood rushing behind his ears.

He ran faster.

The paving stones beneath his feet fell away to grass, soft and damp. The water gathering on the blades hissed and steamed. He couldn’t help it; he laughed. He ran, leapt over rocks, weaved around trees. Even as he tripped, and fell, and rolled down the slope of the mountain, he felt joy. Real, true,  _ explosive joy _ . The moon was so bright overhead, illuminating everything in soft blues, the wind rustling the leaves. He lay on his back, the stars shining sweetly, the earth cool beneath his skin. His heartbeat began to settle, thrumming in his chest and through his limbs and for the first time since it found its home in his chest he felt as though it  _ belonged. _

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, mind drifting pleasantly.

An owl hooted, startling him back to himself and drawing his attention to the trees above him. The bird’s massive yellow eyes bored into him for a long moment, then it ruffled its feathers and took off, swooping low over his head. It landed on another branch, stared at him again, and flew off again, landing this time on a large rock. It hooted low and clear. Zagreus felt laughter bubble up in his chest again, rolling back onto his feet and giving chase to the owl. It lead him through the trees, down the mountain, occasionally turning its head around to ensure he was still on its tail.

The first crunch-sizzle of snow beneath his burning feet came as a surprise. He scanned his surroundings, coated white. There was no longer a moon overhead, but a thick, heavy layer of clouds that shed snowflakes, slow and mournful. Looking behind himself, there was much more of the same. No evidence of the grassy, lush forest he had left, no evidence of his footfalls. He was far from Olympus, he knew, and he was seeing his Mother’s handiwork firsthand. The trees, weighed down by snow, still held green leaves, where they held them at all.

He clutched his chest, bracing himself for the suffocating pain he knew came with leaving Olympus. One second, two seconds, three…

The owl circled him, and in a blinding flash of light, stood Athena. Tall, proud, a hard look on her face. “Greetings, Cousin.”

“Lady Athena!” Zagreus really should have suspected this, now that he thought about it. He bowed his head respectfully, straightening his clothes. He’d scraped himself quite a few times, he noticed, raw skin stinging red.

“We have little time, so I say we skip the pleasantries.” Athena tapped his chin, getting him to raise his head. A smile played on her lips for just a moment, before she steeled herself and spoke with the stern voice he’d learned to associate with  _ extra lessons _ . “I have been in contact with the Goddess Nyx. She beseeched a favor, in the name of family, and I have decided to oblige.” Athena produced something from the air, and let it drop. A tiny, tear-drop shaped jewel, so dark purple it seemed to suck in the light around it hung from her hand on a thin golden chain. “This, Cousin, is darkness itself, compressed and crystalized. Should you have need, or the desire, to contact your family within the Underworld, this will assist you.”

Zagreus held a hand out, and Athena dropped the necklace into it. The stone was so small, barley the size of a pea, but its weight was considerable. “How does it work, then?”

“I am unsure.” Athena admitted. “Goddess Nyx seemed unwilling to tell me much of it, or perhaps unable.” The small smile came back to her face, and she gave his hair a quick, firm ruffle. “You, though, are clever. I have no doubts that you shall uncover its secrets. A word of warning, however.” Back to serious, then. “Do not let Lady Aunt Demeter know of its existence. She would, I think, be unhappy to know the other side of your family wishes to contact you.”

Zagreus wrapped the thin chain around his wrist, hiding the necklace beneath his own bracelet. “Why? That’s… Athena, I met her daughter down there. Why wouldn’t she want to see her?”

“That story is not mine to tell.” She looked away from him, focusing on something in the distance. “It’s time for you to go. Dawn is soon.”

Zagreus blinked. “Dawn? Already? How-”

“I will lead you back to the threshold of Olympus, but that is where I will have to leave you.” Another flash of light, and the same owl swooped past him, perching on a branch. Zagreus sighed, his breath clouding in the air in front of him, and followed after.

It didn’t take too long for them to return to Olympus, the snowy surroundings ending just as abruptly and completely as they had begun, and with a final hoot Athena wheeled off into the sky and vanished. The sky was already beginning to lighten with the dawn, and the uphill trek cost him more time than he would have liked.

As the first rays of the sun began to creep above the horizon, Zagreus rushed along the streets, and skittered through the gates and into the courtyard, his heart pounding with anxiety. He had to get back into bed before Mother awoke-

A gust of wind so frigid it cut to the bone blew, and with a sinking sense of dread, he knew already he was too late.

  
“There you are,” Mother said, a hand like ice closing around his arm. “You and I need to have a  _ talk _ , young man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iaso and Aceso are both minor goddesses of medicine, of recuperation and the healing process respectively. They're daughters of Asclepius, the doctor so good he could resurrect the dead, who in turn is a son of Apollo.  
> A hydria is a jar made for storing wine or oils, but would also be used as a funerary jar for the cremated remains of children, while a pyxis is a small jar used to store jewelry or toiletries. The research for this fic is just as fun as writing it lmao.


	4. Birdcage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are Cthonic in nature, Child. You do not belong upon the surface."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait for such a short chapter. Stuff keeps Happening So Much and so I haven't gotten to writing very much lately. Don't want to keep y'all hanging on a thread for too long though, so here's an update! lmao I hope everyone's quarantined holiday season has started off well!

“Stupid, idiotic, foolish, disobedient boy!” Mother had been speaking for some time now, a slew of fury and insults that held no real point beyond making Zagreus feel small, and hurt, and guilty, and _furious._ “After all I do for you, _all_ I do for you, you continue to go against the simplest of my wishes! I have tried, Zagreus, I have tried to be a good mother. Lenient, understanding, I have given you freedoms-”

“ _Freedoms_ ?” He couldn’t take it anymore, his heartbeat so loud in his ears, blood hot with indignation. “I sleep in your _bedroom_! You lock me up, you take away everything and everyone I care about- what kind of freedom is that?”

“It is far more freedom than you deserve!” Mother wheeled around, towering over him. Frost was gathering on every surface within the lounge. “I ask the simplest things of you! Yet you rebel, again and again!”

“What do you expect?” Zagreus snapped back, standing from the couch, though he still had to crane his neck to look up at her face. “You _lied_ to me my whole life! You kept my heart in a _jar_! I have no friends, no duties, no hobbies, because you keep taking them away!”

“For your own _good!_ ” A frozen gust of wind slammed the door to the lounge open. “I do these things to keep you _safe_! You understand nothing!”

“Because no one will tell me anything! No one has _ever_ told me anything!”

“I expect you to do what you are told, boy! But now I see you shall not behave unless you are in chains. Never again shall I let you out of my sight. Go now and pack you things. We are leaving.”

“What, why? Mother!”

“Quit talking back to me!”

“Just _answer_ me, _please_! Why didn't I have a heart, why did I go to the Underworld- Mother, your _daughter_ was there, and my father is _Hades?_ You aren’t even my real _mother_ -”

"I _raised_ you!" Bottles of nectar flash-froze and burst, Mother’s body crackling with barely contained power. "I raised you from a squalling infant to an ungrateful young man! I am more your mother than Kore ever was, but I see disrespect runs in the family!"

"Who am I, Mother?! Why do you have me?! I deserve to know!"

"You are barely deserving of my patience, boy! Now do as I tell you, and pack your things!"

"No!"

"Zagreus!"

Her hand raised. He flinched back.

The hit he expected never came.

Demeter's expression crumbled, tears welling up in her eyes that froze in their paths down her cheeks. "Oh, my Zagreus, my darling Little Sprout, do you truly hate me so?" She dropped to her knees before him, taking his face in her hands. Her skin was cold as ice, her touch so frigid it hurt. "Am I truly such a horrid mother that both my children would prefer Hell itself to my company?"

Zagreus felt his anger and fear deflate, the unfamiliar beat of his heart pounding in his ears. "Mother, no, that isn't what I mean." He placed a hand over hers, squeezing in what he hoped was assurance. "I'm just… I'm so confused, I feel so lost."

"We have time to discuss this later. If you truly still love me, pack up your things, please. I must take you away from here."

His heart, so unfamiliar to him still, felt like lead, weighing him down so heavily it would drown Poseidon himself. He stepped back, Mother's hands slipping from his face, her own glittering with frozen tears. "Okay, Mother. Okay."

-

Their new home was a palace with no exits, upon a rock amidst a river so swift and violent in its course that not even Mother could freeze it solid. The marble was thick and seamless, the windows barred by wrought bronze molded into the shapes of seasonal plants. Plush carpets and tapestries covered every surface, the furniture soft and silken. The fireplaces and braziers that were kept eternally lit to ward off the winter freeze were barred from access with more woven bronze. The lounge was kept stocked with foodstuff and drinks, and three times a day some swirling spirits would blow in through the barred windows with meals. The central courtyard, kept free of snow by some magic and holding a flourishing garden, was domed with what looked unnervingly like a bird’s cage.

He supposed it was an apt comparison, considering this was hardly more than a glorified prison.

Mother seemed happier, or at least pleased with herself. She would return home after attending her duties in a flurry of snow and ice, wrap Zagreus up in her frigid arms, and speak to him as one would speak to an animal. As though he had nothing of import to say.

She never did answer his questions. Eventually he stopped trying.

He did not know how long he spent in that gilded cage. Days and nights came and went, though the snow never melted, the clouds never lifted. The servants that brought him food did not speak to him. His sleep was irregular and fitful, filled with incomprehensible dreams that left him bound in unplaceable terror.

The bars on the windows were set so deeply into the marble walls that Zagreus doubted he could ever chip his way out. Perhaps the whole construction was this bronze net with marble molded atop it.

He broke a plate and spent some time in the garden, sharpening the shards to spear points. He didn’t know what this would accomplish. The shards were gone the next morning, regardless, spirited away by some unseen hand.

He talked to himself a lot.

The necklace, with its tiny shard of pure darkness, taunted him. He kept it secret, guarded more closely than he himself was. It had not been found, or if it had been it was not deemed a risk. He studied it, meditated on it, prayed with it, pleaded with it.

“Please, please, _please_ ,” He whispered to the little thing, clasped so tightly in his hand that the miniscule facets would surely leave a mark. “Please, Athena said this would help. I’m going insane, I’m utterly insane, I’m trapped and losing my mind.” He begged the necklace. “I want to get out of here, I need to get out of here. _Please_.”

He opened his hand and stared at the gem. It glinted back pure darkness, silent as ever.

“Oh, _fuck you_ !” He shouted. “What is this supposed to do, then? What are you supposed to do? You pointless, stupid thing, _do something_!” The golden chain tangled around his fingers as he shook it. His heart was so, so unbearably loud in his ears. With a wordless yell, he hucked the thing as hard as he could across the room. It hit the polished bronze mirror with a deafening clamor, far too loud for such a tiny object. Zagreus smashed his face into a pillow and screamed until it hurt.

“Child,” came a voice, soft, quiet, strangely accented. Zagreus sat bolt upright, looking around for the source.

He was alone in his room. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in his throat. He really was losing his mind, wasn’t he?

“Here, Child,” the voice said again. “The mirror. Hurry over, time and communication are limited between our realms.”

Oh, why not, really? If he were insane, perhaps he’d finally have a conversation partner again. 

The necklace lay at the base of the mirror, the little stone of darkness gone from its chain. The polished bronze reflected not himself, but the night sky, so dizzyingly vast that looking too hard induced vertigo. Every now and again, within the rippling darkness, a pale white face could be seen, strands of the night rippling across her like gossamer fabric.

“...Lady Nyx?” Zagreus ventured, his heart hammering.

“Yes.” She confirmed. Her voice did not seem to come from the mirror. He didn’t even really know if he was hearing her at all or if he simply knew what she was saying.

“Oh gods, gods above-” Zagreus pressed his hands to the mirror, a desperate, wild hope overtaking his body. “Please, you have to help me, I think my mother’s completely lost it.” Ironic, he thought, hearing that statement in his own hysterical voice.

“I am sorry, Zagreus. Your situation is in part my doing, a fact I deeply regret.”

He felt like he was going to cry. Maybe he already was. “What do you _mean_ ? Nobody will tell me anything, _please_.” He wasn’t even certain what he was begging for. Answers, certainly, an escape, rescue.

“Peace, peace.” Nyx soothed, and he found himself slumping to the ground, leaning heavily against the mirror. “I have not come to addle you.”

“Why is this happening to me?” He pleaded.

“I swore an oath to your mother, the Queen Persephone. I swore to her, while she bore you in her womb, that I would assure you grew, safe and cared for. It was foolish on my part, perhaps, an oath made out of adoration and nothing more. You were stillborn, Zagreus. The fates had not even spun you a yarn of your own.”

“Isn’t that the point of the Underworld? To keep things from coming back to life?” Zagreus voiced somewhat weakly.

“That is true,” Nyx agreed, and her voice held something that was almost amusement. “However, you had never lived, and as such, had not died. It is a technicality, perhaps, but one that worked toward bringing you in the word. To live one needs a body, a soul, and a String of Fate. You had a body, and my daughters could be convinced to weave a string for you. Constructing a soul was no easy task, but one I managed.”

“So why wasn’t I raised in the Underworld, then? Why couldn't you give me back to my parents?”

“They have Fates of their own that cannot be changed. Hades is to never have an heir, and Persephone is never to have a child she raises to adulthood.” The mirror rippled sickeningly, and Zagreus felt for a terrifying moment as though he was falling. “Our time runs short.”

“Wait, please, I have more questions.”

“Speak them quickly.”

“The jar, with my heart in it-”

“You are Chthonic in nature, Child. You do not belong upon the surface. Your heart, and by extension, the soul I crafted for you, was kept in the jar water from the Styx. Were your body to perish upon the surface, your heart could be returned, and the water made into flesh and blood.”

“The jar is broken now, though.”

“Yes.”

“I’d be dead for real if it happened again, wouldn’t I? I've never met a god with a heartbeat.”

“It is… likely, yes.”

“What if I got to the Underworld without dying? Like- like Heracles did, or Orpheus, or Theseus?”

“They all died eventually.” Her voice was fading, the stars in the mirror winking out one at a time.

“Yes, I know, but they left, too, right? They got out after going down while alive.”

“Hurry to the point, Child.”

“Can I get down there without dying?”

“Yes, though it would not be easy.”

Zagreus had more to say, more to ask, but the mirror rippled once again, and the final star blinked out. The darkness turned liquid and crashed to the floor in a cold wave, soaking him in the disconcerting sensation of utter nothingness, before rapidly draining down into a single point, solidifying back into the tiny crystal upon the chain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone in the comments asked for a rundown on Zag's ages (or the equivalent thereof) here, so I wanted to clear that up. Chapter 1 he's about 3-10, chapter 2 he's about 16, Chapter 3 and onward he's close to his age in canon, if a bit younger.

**Author's Note:**

> let it be known that I've done so much research on Greek pottery that my history looks like an art history major who never paid attention in class cramming for their final


End file.
